


Pizza: Part two

by zephalien



Series: community center paul [8]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: M/M, Pizza, Trans Male Character, Transgender Alec Hardy, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23854927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephalien/pseuds/zephalien
Summary: A knock sounds at the door while he’s alone. Daisy is out with friends so there’s only one person it could be.“Miller, I swear if this is another-” Hardy is saying as he pulls the door open and meets nervous green eyes.“Hi.” Paul says.
Relationships: Paul Coates/Alec Hardy
Series: community center paul [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598026
Kudos: 26





	Pizza: Part two

A knock sounds at the door while he’s alone. Daisy is out with friends so there’s only one person it could be.    
  


“Miller, I swear if this is another-” Hardy is saying as he pulls the door open and meets nervous green eyes.

“Hi.” Paul says.

“Er.” Hardy says with his usual eloquence when faced with those eyes.

  
“I’ve brought a pizza.” Paul blurts. When Hardy just stares at it he continues nervously, “Because of how you paid for my pizza and because I’ve been such a wanker and um, you know… everything.”

His cheeks flush and the color startles Hardy into a response. “I can’t.”

“Oh.” Paul’s blush reddens more distinctly and he pulls the pizza box closer in to his chest staring down at it.

“No.” Hardy rushes to correct himself. “I can’t eat pizza.”

“Oh?” Paul’s voice takes on a hopeful air as he meets Hardy’s eyes once again.

“What I mean is… um, would you like to come in?” Hardy asks, pulling the door open wide as an awkward sort of invitation. 

“Please. Thanks.” Paul responds, hurrying past him inside the house. He sets the pizza box down on the table in the dining area of Hardy’s house and looks up helplessly. Those eyes crease with lines of worry and betray a lack of sleep that man must be so accustomed to by now. 

“Sorry, my uh-” He taps his chest where the pacemaker is and unintentionally brushes against the coarse binder hidden away there. He chides his hopeful heart with fingers pressed too hard against the spot for a half second. Paul wouldn’t want him like this. He knows their last meeting was just Paul’s emotional vulnerability mixed with some odd rebellious urge toward his past. Paul didn’t- Wouldn’t. Couldn’t…

Not with a _man_ like him. 

“Right. Stupid.” Paul stuffs his hands in his pocket, blush renewed on his cheeks. 

It makes Hardy hesitate somewhat. “I could… make a salad.”   
  


Paul perks up, glancing up from under his lashes. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

  
“No, of course it’s no-” Hardy rushes then slows himself. “It’s no trouble.” He says more calmly.

Paul gives him a small smile and pulls his hands out of his pockets to rub at his wrists. “Poor planning on my part.”   
  
Hardy takes in Paul’s expression and shuffling feet. His fingers twitch with the desire to tug at his binder but he folds his hands into tight fists. “It’s nothing. I promise.”

Paul’s nervous smile spreads further and he drops his hands to his side finally. “If you promise,” He grins playfully.

“Leave it.” Hardy jokes back, heading to the kitchen and folding up his sleeves to prep veggies.

Paul follows him into the kitchen. Hardy pulls out the fixings as Paul leans against the counter watching, folding his hands together. “Do you want help?”

Hardy looks over at Paul. The man is twisting his hands together and he… falters. “Um… can… just uh.. Here. Wash these.” He says handing over some carrots and cucumbers.

Paul twitches a brief nod. “Of course.”   
  


They bob and weave in tense silence. After Paul finishes washing, Hardy pulls a knife out of the drawer and passes it while he tears apart the lettuce. He does the task with careful focus. He wants to tell Paul he’s trans. His ribcage feels tightly bound with more than just fabric. He knows Paul would say it’s okay. He knows he would leave. He knows he wouldn’t come back.

“Anything else?” Paul asks in that frayed nervous way he often does.

Hardy shakes his head offering the bowl for Paul to drop the veggies in, unable to speak. He tosses it feeling Paul’s fidgeting presence behind him. He brings the dressing and salad, mumbling instructions for plates and silverware. Paul fumbles to pass beside Hardy to grab them. He sets the table properly, like a nice restaurant, and Hardy intentionally doesn’t shoot him a questioning look. He wonders where Paul learned that but doesn’t ask. His lips purse in a pronounced frown he knows makes people think he dislikes them. He doesn’t know what to do. He tries to smooth his expression. He wants Paul here. He does. His chest feels so tight. He counts his heartbeat as he pulls his chair out to sit. One. Two. Three. Paul sits. He smiles. Hardy tries to smile back. He knows he isn’t making the right expression from the tightness that wrinkles Paul’s eyes. How could he want someone who can’t even speak? He can’t. He couldn’t.

They serve up the salad and Paul takes a couple of pieces of pizza for his plate. He gives a wry smile as he opens the box. “I won’t tell if you sneak a bite.”   
  
Hardy gives a weak smile in return and taps his chest above tender flesh that betrays too much plush give under his fingers. “Aye, but this would.”   
  


Paul’s returning gaze contains a smile as weak as his own feels. “Quite.”   
  


They eat in silence and Hardy feels his own awkwardness seeping through his binder, sweat trickling down the center of his chest, emanating and blanketing the table. His mouth feels slow and heavy as he chews.

It isn’t until they have both almost cleared their plates that Paul finally settles his hands in his lap and clears his throat. “I may have been… I mean, I have been… unfair and… potentially inappropriate to you in our…” Paul clears his throat again and his arms shift in his lap. Hardy can imagine the nervous twisting motion he has seen repeated several times now. He would have smirked if not for the implication of Paul’s words.

“It’s nothing.” Hardy says, voice an anxious warning.

  
“Alec.” Paul says, eyes serious.

“Paul.” Hardy mimics, then softer, “Paul.”   
  


Paul tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth, biting down and nodding. “Quite right.”

Hardy watches Paul’s abandoned half eaten piece of pizza left behind, either in his discomfort or maybe just because he is full. Hardy’s ribs ache as he wishes he knew what to say. “I- Thank you. For the pizza.”

Paul doesn’t look up, just nods, “Sorry again.”   
  
“No, please-” Hardy starts but when he meets Paul’s eyes the words die in his throat.

After a silence, Paul manages to break the still awkwardness finally. “I should be going.”

Now it’s Hardy’s turn to nod. His throat is too dry for anything else. 

As he follows Paul to the door, his throat unsticks long enough to apologize. He wants to apologize for so much but all he says is a solitary, “Sorry.”

  
  


Paul gives him a funny look. “Not your fault.”

Hardy wonders, as they bid farewell, what part Paul was referring to.


End file.
